


The Temp

by gubernaculum



Series: The Namesakes [8]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-25 10:19:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14376720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gubernaculum/pseuds/gubernaculum
Summary: Torchwood's new technician begins consulting for another agency.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is being posted out of order. It takes place between The New Guy and The Welshman. It is entirely a supplemental work for the Namesakes series. Torchwood characters are only mentioned and never actually appear. This story contains ONLY my original characters.

It was a brilliantly sunny day in Washington DC. Henry was walking back to his hotel. He’d flown into the American capital city to prepare living arrangements for him and his boyfriend. Fish would be serving in an advisory and consulting capacity to that nation’s alien agency, Men in Black, for at least two months, possibly longer. He’d expected finding a place for them to live would be simple, so he’d only planned on being here a few short days. Unfortunately, he’d extended his trip to an entire week. 

There were many factors involved. They had to be in close proximity to the government offices and buildings Fish would likely have to visit during his stay. Because of his position, he might be required to host gatherings or social affairs. The classified nature of Fish’s work also meant there needed to be adequate security. In a city that was the seat of a powerful government, none of that was in short supply.

Henry’s original intention had been to purchase a small, quaint home. It was the simplest and easiest solution. Though Henry would likely never sell whatever they bought, real estate in the areas in and around Washington DC was an excellent investment. He’d wanted to find something with a small patch of land, knowing Fish had missed having a vegetable garden. To his disappointment, Fish had completely dismissed the idea. Henry suspected the permanence of purchasing a home didn’t sit well with his boyfriend. He likely didn’t want Henry to think that permanence would extend to his position at MiB. 

Instead, Henry had started to look into a short term lease of either an apartment or home. There were several options, but Henry had yet to find something suitable due to timing problems. Many were demanding a one year lease which was too long of a commitment for them. Those available for the short term did not fit their time frame, either becoming available after they needed or becoming unavailable too soon. 

Currently, Henry was examining the possibility of an extended stay at a hotel which was the least attractive idea. While it was convenient, it would be an enormous expense. Only the largest hotels offered a large enough suite that would meet their needs and three months was a long time. MiB and Torchwood were contributing to the cost, but it was no where near what a large suite would be. Henry had plenty of money, but such a hotel stay would drain all of his savings. They’d just purchased a large loft in Cardiff and begun extensive renovations. Now was not the time to be dumping so much money. 

After a polite nod to the front desk staff, Henry rode the lift up to his room. He sat down at the small table and scrubbed at his face. The last thing he wanted to do was to extend his stay again, but time was running out. He and Fish were due in this city in just over two months and it would take at least that long to arrange transport of their things not to mention securing a vehicle. Henry also wanted to arrive early so they could acclimate themselves to the time difference, their new surroundings, the cultural differences between Europe and America… Henry’s mind swam with all the unfinished details. He was about to ring the front desk so he could get a recommendation for lunch when his mobile vibrated. A smile crossed his face as he read the name on the caller ID. 

“Joe,” he said with a wide smile. He checked his watch. He spoke with his boyfriend every day, but usually not this early. This was a wonderful surprise. “Are you still at work?” 

“No, Jack sent us home early,” Fish replied. “Slow day. Touch wood.” 

“And uneventful, I hope,” he teased.

“Just a small problem with a Blowfish dealing smack down in Splott,” Fish said, nonchalantly. “I don’t get what it is with those guys and their drugs or why it’s always Splott?” 

“For some reason, when I was searching for a place for us to live, all the estate agents referred to it as ‘Sploe’. You never told me, Joe, what is done with these beings?” he asked, examining his cuticles. 

“What we can do is limited,” Fish said. “We obviously can’t deport them back to their own world or send them through our own legal system. In the past, Jack said Torchwood executed them.”

“That seems rather extreme,” Henry said, frowning.

“Apparently, Torchwood used to execute everything for anything. Now, we just toss them down into cryostasis for a year. After he’s cooled off, we defrost them and send them on their way. We have a one strike policy though. If he does anything else to break the law, he ends up in cryostasis permanently.” 

“Is that because Torchwood cannot integrate Blowfish into the population?”

Fish said, “No, the penalty would be the same for anyone. How long they end up in stasis varies from crime to crime. If he’d hurt or killed someone, he would’ve ended up in there permanently from the off.” 

Henry was continually amazed at the diversity and strangeness of his boyfriend’s work. He decided to get comfortable and went to sit on the bed. “Have you eaten? Did you defrost something from the freezer?”

“Yes, that soup you made. It was delicious.” There was a sad pause. “How about you? It’s… what? One in the afternoon there? How was your morning? Any luck?” 

Even though Fish couldn’t see him, Henry shook his head. “No, nothing yet.” 

There was a sad pause. “Are you going to stay another few days?” 

“That would not be my preference,” Henry said. He rubbed at his neck and then took one of the other pillows, propping it behind him. “I miss you.” 

“I miss you too,” Fish replied. 

“There was a promising condo for sale-”

“I don’t want to go buying something when we’re only going to be there a few months,” Fish said, with impatience. “I want to keep every penny available for the loft renovations. If it was a nice vacation spot, that’d be one thing. But Washington DC isn’t exactly on my list of cities I want to visit over and over again.” 

Henry suppressed a sigh. He said, “I will continue my efforts but I may need to extend my stay. Most of the apartments are not available for the time we require. I did see a lovely condo but it was available for only two months, not three. There was also a townhouse but there was no land.” 

“It’s sweet you want to get me a garden, Henry, but I probably won’t have any time to dig in the dirt,” Fish said, sighing himself. “We’ll just have to keep looking.” 

“Agreed,” Henry said. He flexed his feet and then crossed his legs at the ankles. He was about to ask Fish whether or not one of the suburbs would be acceptable when his mobile vibrated in his hand. “One moment, Joe.” 

He looked at the screen. There was another call. “Joe, I’m sorry, love, but I must take this. It is one of the estate agents.” 

“I’ll ring later,” Fish said, quickly. “I love you. Bye, Henry.” 

“I love you too, Joe. Until then,” he said and tapped to accept the new call. “Hello?… Yes, I am still interested… Truly?… Of course… Yes… No another viewing is not necessary. I would like to secure it immediately… Which is?… No, that won’t be a problem at all… I will have my financial representation contact you… Thank you very much… Yes… Of course… Yes… Thank you again… Goodbye.” 

Henry sat back, breathing a sigh of relief. The condo he’d just told Fish about was now available for six months, not two. The only catch was that they would have to pay for all six months even if they were only there for three. He immediately rang his boyfriend back to tell him the good news. The even better news was that he would be able to return on his scheduled flight tomorrow morning. 

He kept their conversation short, insisting his boyfriend get some much needed rest. Then he rang his financial agent so that he could transfer the appropriate funds. He tried to change his ticket so he could return to Cardiff sooner but all the flights were full. He could fly with additional layovers, but by the time he got to Cardiff, it would be no sooner than if he’d kept his original flight.

The front desk recommended a small local spot for lunch and while Henry ate, he thought about how best to pass the time until his departure. Normally, he would visit a local tourist attraction, park, or museum for the attraction itself or to sketch, but he didn’t want to see any of the sights without Fish. 

The waiter brought him his tea and as he sipped it, he gazed out the restaurant window, south. He knew what and who was in that direction. His mind’s eye filled with deep blue eyes and a wide smile. A sadness came over him and he tried to subtly wipe his eyes. 

_Matthew_ …

Having no heir and ostracised by his family, his late husband, Matthew, had carefully willed his family’s plantation to Henry-its house, lands, and slaves. Before that inheritance, Henry had been nothing more than a poor painter, struggling to make ends meet-a far cry from his royal roots. He told himself, over and over again, that it wouldn’t have mattered to Matthew whether or not he visited his grave. But to Henry it was a failing.

He had not stepped foot on the property since Matthew's funeral. 

Henry had tried, numerous times, to visit his late husband’s grave, or to at least check on the home they had shared together, but the grief had been too much for him. As he gazed south, Henry realized how little he’d processed his grief. The loss of a spouse was not a simple thing a person got over, it was something to be integrated into life. But Henry hadn’t done that. The deep pain lancing in his chest was proof. He could barely think of Matthew and spoke his name as little as possible. 

Guilt was the next emotion that lanced through him. It felt disingenuous to continue on with Fish when Matthew’s ghost hung in his heart. He wanted Matthew to have a place there, of course, but he didn't want to have his husband’s memory rising up like a squall to suck him down in a storm of grief and pain. 

_Will you have me, Henry? I love you and no other._

The sound of Matthew’s voice was clear in his mind as his eyes burned and stung. His stomach became a black pit as he shoved his food away just as he shoved the memories aside in his mind. 

This time in Washington was an opportunity, for his past and his present. This time at MiB would be a way for Fish to enter a job where he wasn’t in mortal peril. Fish was convinced he would despise the work, but Henry planned to spend every free moment showing his lover how much better this life in America would be. During the day, while Fish was at work, Henry would spend his days at the plantation. It was time to face his grief head on. A few months might not be long enough to sift through centuries of repression, but it would be a start.


	2. Chapter 2

Fish hadn’t wanted to leave Cardiff so soon, but in the end, he’d done it to get Henry to shut up. From the minute Henry had gotten home, he’d gone on and on about how they needed to give themselves an appropriate amount of time to adjust. Fish had agreed that adjustment was necessary, but he thought arriving in Washington a full month before his start date was excessive. Both men had lived in America before and Fish thought the transition would be simple.

But Fish ended up eating his words, completely misjudging how much time they would need once they arrived.

The first hurtle had been transportation. While Washington DC had plenty of public transportation and Fish would be provided a MiB car and driver, they still needed a car of their own. Fish wouldn’t have the use of the MiB car on weekends and Henry would need to get around too. It had taken them longer to find an appropriate vehicle than Fish had thought it would. The two of them had argued about sporty vs petrol efficient. 

What took them the longest was unpacking. The shipment with their things had arrived when they had, but the shipping company had misplaced several boxes and some ended up in the wrong cities. It had taken two weeks for the company to correct the error. Fish had expected it would take them no time at all to unpack, since neither man was working, and they had an unlimited amount of free time. But he’d underestimated how having that unlimited free time in each other's company would slow them down. Free from the interrupting rift, Fish sometimes wondered why they’d bothered to unpack their clothing. 

Clothing had been yet another reason for their early arrival. MiB’s standard of dress was more formal than the t-shirts and jeans acceptable at Torchwood. Fish only owned two suits and that wouldn't be enough when he needed to be in one every work day for months. So to his despair and Henry’s delight, Fish had let his boyfriend drag him to shops all over for suits, shirts, ties and shoes. Once the shopping was done, all of the suits had required altering to varying degrees and that had taken significant time. 

At least, Henry hadn’t said I told you so.

Despite the shopping, Henry had been gleeful and his mood had been infectious. Sometimes, Fish indulged in the absurd fantasy of ceasing work altogether and living off of Henry’s wealth, while the two of them did nothing but travel the world and make love. It sounded like a fantastic notion, but Fish couldn’t see himself doing it. He wasn't the type to be idle. He knew he'd go mad. After a month had passed in DC, Fish was practically giddy when his first day at MiB arrived. 

After staring at the wall of suits for nearly an hour yesterday, Fish had given up trying to figure out how to match any of it. He had sheepishly asked Henry if he wouldn’t mind selecting work clothes for him… every day. With a slightly patronizing smile, Henry had agreed. Well, at least he knew he'd look absolutely smashing. 

When Fish woke, he found himself alone in bed. He rubbed at his eyes, blinking at the clock. He’d woken twenty minutes before his alarm was supposed to go off. He let out a groan of annoyance. _One of life’s real cruelties…_ He knew if he closed his eyes, and tried to doze for the next twenty minutes, it would make him unbelievably groggy. He rolled out of bed and turned off the alarm, angrily throwing the blankets aside. Just as his feet hit the floor, Henry walked into the room carrying a freshly ironed shirt. 

“Joe? Did I wake you?” he asked. 

“No, woke up on my own before my bloody alarm. I fucking hate it when that happens,” Fish said, gesturing at the clock. He rubbed at his eyes again. “Is that for me?” 

Henry nodded. “I just ran a warm iron over it. You must look your best today.” 

He gushed with affection. “Thanks, Henry.”

His boyfriend reached into the closet and pulled it out two suits. “I did not wish to make the choice entirely on my own. What is your opinion of these two?” 

Fish raised a groggy eyebrow. “A double breasted three piece or a single breasted three piece? Don’t you think that’s overkill?” 

He looked down between the two suits and then back up at Fish. “You look quite handsome in these, Joe. You wish to make a good first impression, do you not?” 

“Yeah, I do…” Fish hesitated. He didn’t want to insult Henry’s choice, but he felt the formality would be off-putting. “It’s just… I thought those would be good for when I have big meetings with Congress or the White House.” 

Henry raised an eyebrow at the suits of choice. “You feel I’ve over stepped the mark?” When Fish hesitated, he said, “Please, be honest, Joe. You won’t hurt my feelings.” 

“Torchwood’s already got this reputation for arrogance. I think it might send the wrong message if I come in dressed to the nines on the first day.” 

Henry nodded. He picked up both suits and went to hang them back up.

 “I understand. I shall select something else,” he replied from inside the closet. After a few minutes, he held a suit out of the door. “What is your opinion of this one, love?” 

Fish eyed the suit. He still thought he’d end up looking like a banker, but he nodded and said, “Perfect. Thanks, Henry.” 

He got up and walked over to the wooden valet rack, examining the ties. Henry leaned over and snatched them out of his hands. “I shall select new ones for you.” 

“What’s wrong with these?” he asked. 

Henry said, “Trust me, love.” 

While Henry picked through the shirts and ties, Fish admired the suit for a moment then hung it on the closet door. It was lovely and he couldn’t fault Henry’s taste, but he was dreading wearing it. Suits were not his thing. Fish mentally wondered how many professions were left that required formal business attire. Many corporations and banks had scaled down their dress codes, but the world of politics was definitely where one needed to dress formally. Fish had fully expected to end up with over a dozen suits since he'd be here for months. After all that shopping, Henry had only selected six. The number of shirts and ties had been another matter entirely.  

His previous job at ECO UK had required business casual, and even upper management hadn’t worn suits. When tinkering with alien tech and running through the streets of Cardiff, Fish was allowed to wear whatever he pleased as long as it met with general standards of cleanliness and decency. Usually, it was nothing more than a t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Traditional business attire on a daily basis was a huge change for him. _Well, if Ianto Jones can do it, so can I._

“I’m going to have a shower,” Fish said, sighing. 

“Would you like for me to do your shave, Joe?” he offered. 

Fish had already asked him to select his clothes. Though it was tempting to have the straight razor shave this morning, he didn’t want to treat his boyfriend like his personal valet. “No thanks, Henry. I can manage.” 

After a quick peck on the cheek, Henry said, “I’ll make you some breakfast.” 

Before Fish could stop him, he’d scurried off to the kitchen. _Christ, what did I ever do to deserve him?_ Fish wondered, and not for the first time. Henry seemed to delight in taking care of him, catering to his every need and whim. He made Fish feel cared for and cherished in a way he never had. While he showered, he mentally ticked off the many ways he could show his boyfriend his appreciation tonight when he got home. He spent the entire shower trying to will away the resulting arousal.

After his shower and breakfast, Fish got into his suit with Henry’s help, chiefly with his tie. He hooked his finger into his shirt collar, tugging at the unfamiliar sensation of something so close to his neck. He stood in front of the mirror, checking his appearance. He turned left and right, admiring the flattering cut. The suit was a much closer fit than he would’ve selected on his own, and therefore, more uncomfortable. In fact, if he didn’t know better-and he didn’t-he’d say the suit was too small. He smoothed down the fabric by the jacket buttons where it was pulling slightly as he moved. He was going to have to be careful about eating too much of Henry’s cooking if he wanted to keep fitting into some of these suits and the man delighted in feeding him. He turned to the side, noting how the trousers hugged his arse. He’d never understood what women referred to as a ‘fuck me’ outfit, but now he did. 

He felt Henry’s arm snake around his waist, while the other one slid down his backside, a few fingers resting just behind his balls. Fish felt blood surging south again. He turned towards Henry, pulling back. “Oi, I barely fit into this suit without a hard-on complicating things.” 

A single finger tip trace the edge of Fish’s rapidly filling cock through the wool. Henry whispered, huskily, “You look positively edible, Joe.” 

Fish shuddered as Henry slowly sank to his knees, undoing the button and the flies. By the time Fish’s vision had cleared, Henry was rising to stand. He unbuttoned Fish’s shirt and eased the suit jacket off his shoulders. “It is good I selected a second suit. Such stains would be most embarrassing on you first day.” 

Fish barely registered the words. He pulled Henry in for a kiss, tasting himself on the other man’s lips.“Good thing I woke up so early.” 

When Fish started to kneel, Henry dragged him back up. "There isn't time, love." He pulled Fish in for a quick kiss. "And there will ample opportunity tonight."  

Fish blushed and began to dress. Once he was done, he smoothed his hair, checking his reflection in the mirror. 

“At least they’re not solid black,” Fish said. “Whole bloody agency looks like a bunch of fucking funeral directors…” 

Henry choked back a laugh. He ran his fingertip along the shell of Fish’s ear. “You did tell Director Donovan it was a condition of your position.” He kissed Fish on the cheek and looked at the clock. “Come, I should like to get some toast into you at least. Your breakfast will be stone cold now.” 

"I'm used to stone cold food, Henry." Fish followed him. He took off his jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, then tossed his tie over his shoulder. Henry put some bread into the toaster and went in search of the butter. Fish turned on the single cup brewer and then went to get the newspaper.

“Jam?” Fish asked. 

“Strawberry,” Henry replied. 

“Perfect,” he said, setting the paper down on the breakfast table. 

Henry set the plate of toast and jam in front of him.

"Not hungry?" Fish asked, concerned. His boyfriend seemed distracted this morning.  

Henry shook his head. "Not this morning, no." 

"Christ, I miss Ianto’s coffee,” Fish said with a sigh. The coffee from the single cup brewer was drinkable but it was nothing like Ianto’s. 

“I'm afraid any coffee I attempted to brew would be just as distasteful. Perhaps your driver will stop at a Starbucks for you,” Henry said as he sat down. He unfolded his newspaper. 

“All the favorings cover up the shite coffee, but it’s too much sugar and I’d rather not make my commute too long. A lot of bloody traffic in this city,” Fish said with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t like the idea of a chauffeur. I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”

“You agreed that it would be easier for them to secure one of their own vehicles rather than yours.” 

“I’m perfectly capable of driving one of their cars,” Fish said, sighing. 

“I think you should enjoy the luxury,” Henry said, turning his newspaper page. 

“You know that sort of thing makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like having other people do things for me that I’m perfectly capable of doing myself.” Fish bit into his toast and added more jam.  

Henry’s eyes unfocused as he stared off out the window. When Fish had swallowed the last of his toast, he said, “You were miles away there.” 

After a light throat clear and an uncomfortable shift of his weight, Henry said, “Matthew and I often had similar discussions.” 

Fish’s eyebrows shot up, and he tried to reign in his surprise. Henry never spoke of his late husband like this. Carefully, he said, “Discussions about what?” 

“Household chores,” Henry said, a sad smile on his face. He waved to the south. “Matthew was a wealthy landowner. He often chastised me for lowering myself to menial tasks, insisting I should leave such work to his slaves.” The sadness drained from the smile. “And I would often reply that I was quite capable of doing such things myself.” 

Fish laughed and waved between them. “Bit of a role reversal.” He paused. “Did Matthew know who you were?” 

“He did,” Henry said, quietly. His voice cracked and he fell silent. After a few minutes, he cleared his throat, then wiped his eyes under the guise of brushing non-existent hair away from his face. “Did you want to practice your speech one more time?” 

Fish shook his head. “I’m going to run it past Ethan.” 

He let the subject change slide, not wanting to prod at the grief too much. Donovan had asked him to address the staff on only his second day of work and had only informed him three days ago. Fish had been working on his speech nonstop and had tried it out on Henry a few times. 

“Do you want to have lunch today?” Fish asked. 

“I'm sure you will need today to acclimate yourself to your new job," Henry said.  

“You're probably right, I-” Fish broke off as the condo’s phone rang. He was about to get up and answer it, but Henry beat him to it, almost as if he were fleeing the table. 

“Hello?... Yes?… Of course… The guest spaces are marked in yellow. The numbered are assigned… I understand… Yes, we’ll see you in a few moments,” he said and hung up the phone. “Your driver is nearly here, Joe.” 

Fish nodded and gulped down the rest of his coffee. 

“Slow down, Joe,” he chastised. “You’ll give yourself a stomach ache.” 

“I don’t want to keep him waiting,” Fish said. He brushed the crumbs off of his lap when he stood up. 

The doorbell rang and Henry went to open it. Fish gave the young man a bemused smile. If it weren’t for the sunglasses and ear piece, he would indeed, look like a funeral director. 

“Good morning, sir. I’m here for Deputy Director Fischer,” he said, remaining respectfully in the hallway. 

“Come in, young man. Joe will be along presently,” he said. He held out his hand. “I’m his partner, Henry Blount.” 

“Agent Jason Cohen. It’s good to meet you, sir,” he said, shaking Henry’s hand. 

“May I offer you some coffee, lad?” 

Cohen shook his head and removed his sunglasses. “No, thank you, sir.” 

Fish wasn't sure what to do with his coat. It was spring, but still chilly. He didn't want to wrinkle his suit jacket, wearing it during the ride. Deciding to put the coat on anyway, he held out his hand to the young man. 

“Joe Fischer,” he said. 

“Agent Jason Cohen, sir.” Cohen grasped his hand firmly, giving him a friendly smile. 

“My boyfriend, Henry Blount,” Fish said, gesturing at Henry. 

“I’ve already introduced myself, Joe.”

Henry immediately started fussing over Fish’s appearance. Fish tolerated it for a brief moment and then began swatting at his boyfriend’s hands, trying to escape. When he turned towards the door, he saw Cohen grinning at them. Having met with discrimination at the hands of MiB agents before, Fish asked, harshly, “Something funny, Agent Cohen?”

“No, sir,” Cohen said, still grinning. “Or well, yes sir. You two remind me of my uncles. Uncle Steve is always fixing Uncle Nate’s shirts collars and brushing away lint that isn’t there. I think he even picks out Uncle Nate’s clothes for him.”

Fish didn’t acknowledge the information outwardly, but felt a light blush creeping over his cheeks. He relaxed his defensiveness. He wondered if Donovan had assigned Cohen to him on purpose. He turned back to Henry. 

He said, quietly, “I love you.” 

“And I you,” Henry replied. “Good luck today, love.” 

“What are you going to do?” Fish asked. 

Henry's Adam's apple bobbed and he blinked twice.  

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” Henry replied, shrugging. 

Fish smiled and ignored the odd tone to his boyfriend’s voice. He kissed Henry again. “I’ll ring if I’m free for lunch.” 

When he got to the door, Cohen held out his hand for Fish’s bag but he shook his head. “I’ve got it, Cohen.”

“Yes, sir.” 

While they made their way down to the street, Fish tried to shake off how uncomfortable he felt with the escort, and Cohen’s use of the honorific. Cohen was just trying to be respectful, but each time he used it, Fish tried not to flinch. ‘Sir’ had always been his father. Now, he thought of it as a thinly veiled pet name Ianto used for Jack, and it made him uncomfortable. He supposed he should get used to it. He had an entire agency of people under his command who would be using it now. 

When they left the building, Cohen protectively looked up and down the street. He also tried to open the car door for Fish, their hands colliding. Fish automatically yanked his hand back. He glared at Cohen and the young MiB agent started to look sheepish. _He’s just doing his job…_ Fish told himself firmly. Fish gestured at the door and Cohen opened it for him. 

Just as Fish bent to get into the car, Cohen said, “Deputy moving.” 

Fish glared at him and he immediately said, “Sorry, sir. It’s protocol, sir. I need to let central know your movements, sir.” 

“You don’t need to put the ‘sir’ in every sentence, Cohen. Makes me bloody want to turn around a look for my father and the man's been dead nearly thirty years,” Fish said, getting into the car. He barely reminded himself to not reach for the door to shut it. Immediately, he became warm and shed his coat. Then he took his suit jacket off so it wouldn’t wrinkle and hung it on the hook. He’d have to get a hanger. 

They’d only been driving a few minutes when Fish pushed the button on the intercom. 

“Yes, sir?” the young man asked. 

“How long is the commute?” 

“Twenty minutes, give or take, depending on the traffic. Would you like for me to make a stop for coffee or something for you to eat, sir?” 

“No thanks, I ate at home. Let me know when we’re five minutes out,” Fish said. He hated sitting in the back of this car with nothing to do but stare out the fucking window or muck about on his phone. It was only the first day. He’d probably be able to do some work during the commute. 

Just as in Seattle, the car pulled into a large parking structure. This time, the entire car pulled into the lift. Fish paid close attention as his driver inserted a key card and allowed the device to scan his retina. He spoke his access code and the lift began to descend. Cohen parked the car and hurried around to open the door for Fish who still felt like an idiot having someone open his doors for him. It did give him time to put his suit jacket back on. When he got out of the car, Cohen held his hand out for Fish’s bag again. 

“I can carry my own bag,” he said, a little annoyed. 

“Sorry, sir,” he replied, looking sheepish. “Just trying to be helpful.” 

Fish sighed and followed Cohen towards a large door. Again, Cohen reached for the handle but this time Fish stopped him. 

He pushed the flat of his hand onto the door, stopping him from opening it. The agent looked at him with confusion. 

“Take those sunglasses off, Cohen,” he said. He tried to sound friendly and wondered if he was failing miserably because the young man looked like he was bracing himself for a bollocking. “What agency were you with before you joined MiB?” 

“Secret Service, sir,” he said, proudly. 

“Of course,” Fish said, mostly to himself. He gave the other man an authoritative glare. “Cohen, there’s a fine line between helpful and bum lick. I’m a simple bloke. I don’t need to look important by having someone else carry my kit and open my doors for me. Got it?” 

Cohen flushed a bit and nodded. 

“Good. I’ll open the doors myself, okay?” 

After another nod, Fish followed the young man through the innocuous looking door and into a room bustling with people. Unlike his visit to the Seattle field office, these people looked genuinely busy. Fish couldn’t help but wonder with what. As far as he knew, there’d been no alien activity over American soil this year and it was May.

Cohen led Fish through the room towards a small alcove in the back where there were two desks facing each other. Only one desk was occupied, an agent in the standard issue MiB black suit. Fish wondered if Torchwood shouldn’t have included dress code changes in their suggestions. Cohen gestured to his right then his left. “Director Donovan’s office. And yours. This is Agent Quinn Colasanto, Director Donovan’s PA.”

Fish politely shook the young man’s hand. Colasanto cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know where your PA is… Agent Richards was only just assigned back-” 

At that moment, a rather flustered looking young woman came into the room carrying a small briefcase and a paper coffee cup. She pushed in between Cohen and Fish with a small muttered, “‘Scuse me.” 

She dropped the cup and the case onto the desk, knocking over half a dozen other things in the process. She hastily began putting everything to rights. 

“Goddammit,” she muttered. “Of all the days to be late… fucking traffic...” She looked up at the other PA as she spoke very, very fast. “Hi Quinn, good to see you again. You know they only told me this morning I had to report here for that smug Torchwood asshole. The joys of goverment work." She rolled her eyes. "I only just got the briefing e-mail this morning-”

Cohen cleared his throat loudly and Richards looked up as if seeing them for the first time. 

“Wrong suit, Agent,” she snapped. When Fish didn't answer, she raised an annoyed eyebrow and asked, "Agent?"  

Fish held out his hand. He was struggling to keep his face stern even though what he wanted to do was laugh hard enough to piss himself. “Smug Torchwood Asshole at your service, Agent Richards, I presume?” 

All the colour drained from the young woman’s face and her eyes became wide saucers. With her mouth open, she resembled a goldfish. She swallowed hard and stepped out from behind her desk. 

“Oh, God… Oh… I’d apologise but… shit… what’s the point. Shit… Sorry I should stop cursing. It’s unprofessional. I’m not… I’m sorry… I… I’m going to shut up.” She grimaced and took his hand, shaking it fearfully. “Agent Alicia Richards.” 

Still trying to keep his composure, Fish turned to Cohen and said, with mock impatience, “Thank you, Cohen.” 

“Have Richards send for me when you need me,” Cohen said. He shot Richards a glare of disapproval and shared a look of amusement with Colasanto. Fish caught the smothered grin as the young agent walked away and could’ve sworn he also heard a snort that disguised laughter. It didn't help Fish keep his own composure, he felt his mouth threatening to quiver. 

He stared her straight in the eyes and said, sternly, “Agent Richards? A word?” 

Then strode into his office without looking back. He set his messenger bag down and didn’t bother looking around. He’d do that after he was done. He was trying to be menacing. “Shut the door behind you, please.” 

When he heard the door shut, he looked up. She was taking tentative steps into the room, holding the tablet in her hands up almost defensively. “You’re not going to beat me up are you?”

_Okay maybe I did the menacing bit a little too well._ Fish raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” 

“It’s just that I heard what happened with Agent Carpenter and they kept him at the hospital overnight and then he lost his job and I really like my job, Doctor Fischer-” 

Fish held up a hand to stop her. “Woah, woah, slow down, Richards.” He back stepped around his desk. “I’m not mad at you.”

She looked back towards the closed door and then stammered, “Uhh… you’re not?” 

“I’m Torchwood, Agent Richards, I'm used to being called a smug arsehole. I was just taking the piss, making you think I was cross when I'm not. Sorry.” He leaned against his desk and said, “I really do want a word. It's our first day working together. I just wanted to talk to you, lay some ground, and make some things clear. Maybe get to know each other a bit.” 

“Uhh… okay…” she said, clearly confused.

She shifted her weight and for the first time Fish noticed her shoes. The heels had to be at least four inches high. He gestured at the chair. "Please sit." 

"Uh, I'm okay, sir," she said. 

"Richards, it's hurting my feet watching you in those shoes," he said, gesturing at the chair again. "I can't imagine what it's doing to you and you're the one wearing them."

She twisted, flashing the stylish black heels at him. "What? These? I could jog from here to Baltimore in them, sir." 

Fish raised an eyebrow. He wanted to introduce her to Ianto. After clearing his throat he said, "Suit yourself. As I’d just got done telling Agent Cohen, I’m a simple bloke, but this is all new to me,” he said, waving around the large office. “I might dislike the idea of a chauffeur and a PA, but the truth is, I need the help. I’m going to look to you to guide me through MiB and the political waters that surround it.” 

“Yes, sir,” she said, relaxing a little. 

“Before we get more into the professional, first the personal.” Fish reached into his messenger bag and handed a piece of paper to her. “This is my boyfriend’s mobile number, and my family's. If they say it’s important, I’m to be interrupted. I don’t care if the world’s ending.” 

She took the paper and read it. “Henry Blount and… the Nortons? Anna, Robert, Emily, and Peter?” 

Fish nodded. "My sister, her husband. Emily and Peter are both teenagers." 

“I’ll have them flagged at the switchboard and provide them with office direct numbers,” she said, tucking the paper between her hand and the tablet. 

“One more thing,” he said, looking down at his feet. “I hope that what I’m about to say is something that can stay in this room.” 

Richards shifted uncomfortably. “Sir, I don’t know…” 

“I don’t want to put you in a bad place or make you feel like I’m taking advantage of the fact that you jammed your foot into your mouth not more than five minutes ago. Though that'd be an accomplishment wearing those,” he said, smirking.

This was the first time he’d tried to channel Jack Harkness outside of the bedroom when not involved in something sexual. He did his best to look inspirational as he said, “I value respect, loyalty and trust, Richards, but I also know those things are earned. I’d like to start with this as a gesture of good faith.” 

“Aye, aye, sir,” she said, nodding. 

Fish made a note of the nautical phrasing, then folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his desk. He looked down Richards in the eye and confessed, "My boyfriend’s been read in.”

The goldfish expression from earlier returned. 

“Trust me, I know how illegal that is. But as anyone who’s done this job for any amount of time knows, secrecy is a lonely thing. I was okay with that for a long time but… not with Henry. I don’t expect you to understand, but I can’t share my life with him if I’m hiding part of it from him. He's everything to me and I needed him to know.” He shrugged. “Sorry if I’m over sharing.” 

“Not at all, sir. I understand,” she said. 

He could see the look of someone who understood from experience. He wondered whom she’d lost. He cleared his throat, nervously, and said, “I want you to know that you can speak to him plainly about my work here. You understand-”

“Won’t leave this room, sir,” she said, firmly. 

“Thank you, Richards,” he said, smiling. He stood up, straightening his back. “So tell me something about yourself.”

“Sir?” 

“Tell me something about yourself,” he repeated. "You were Navy?" 

Her chin lifted and she said, “I'm a Marine, sir. I attended Annapolis and the Naval Justice School. I’m a member of the District of Columbia Bar Association, but I don’t actively practice. Obviously. After I left the Judge Advocate Division, I was a CIA analyst for a year. MiB for the past two.” 

“Your rank?” he asked. 

“Captain, sir,” she replied, proudly. 

“Got any family?” he asked. 

“Uhh,” she stammered. She obviously hadn’t expected the question. “Younger sister, Alexis. My parents are divorced. My father’s remarried, I have half-siblings but I've never met them.”

He could tell he was making her uncomfortable so he flashed a friendly smile at her. “I’m sure we’ll develop a rhythm after a while. Keep me apprised of anything you think might be relevant or useful. I don't mind being questioned or contradicted with respect, of course.” 

“Yes, sir,” she said. She tapped the tablet. “Would you like to review your schedule for the week?” 

He nodded and didn’t look up as he unpacked his messenger bag. He’d brought several personal items with him to decorate his office. The first thing he did was put his digital picture frame next to his computer screen, then began searching for a place to plug it in. 

“Your schedule is completely clear today, no meetings or phone calls. The Director wanted to make sure your first day was clear to give you time to adjust,” she said. 

He set down his green mug on his desk. He’d stolen it from the Hub when Ianto hadn't been looking. “I'm going to send out an e-mail that any staff that want to can stop in, say hello, introduce themselves, let them know my door is always open without sounding like some sort of managerial cliche. Oh, I'd like the personnel files on all staff, arranged by assigned location. I want all incident reports for the past five years arranged by location too." 

“Yes, sir.” She swiped left. “Tomorrow morning, you have a brief introduction with the President."

"Well that's not nerve wracking at all," Fish muttered to himself. 

"You'll be fine, sir. This President is fairly relaxed with these sorts of casual introductions. In the afternoon, you’ll address the staff. It'll be video conferenced to the rest of the field offices." 

“I’ve written my remarks already but have Director Donovan forward me whatever speech he’s prepared for himself so that I don’t overlap or repeat anything," Fish said, sighing. He hated public speaking with a passion. “I’d like your opinion too, if you don’t mind, Richards.” 

“Of course, sir. Some other important notes. Director Donovan has a meeting with the President, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and the Secretary of Defense every other month to update them on the status of alien activity and research going on at Area 51. That meeting date tends to shift around depending on the President's own schedule. As the deputy, once or twice a week you'll also be up on The Hill.” 

“The Hill?” 

“Capitol Hill,” Richards clarified. “It's mostly meetings with various Congressional committees-budget, appropriations, ethics, and so on. I’ll forward you the dates," she said. 

"Will you be accompanying me to those?" Fish asked.

"If that's your preference, sir," she replied.

Fish nodded. "I might do that for the first few. Get me any information on those politicians. Personal information too, please."

"Yes, sir," Richards said, sounding pleased. "That’s all for this week’s schedule. I’ll notify you of any changes, of course.” 

“Meetings and phone calls…” Fish muttered with a sigh. He could feel his blood pressure rising and his stomach churning already. 

“Can I get you anything, Doctor Fischer? Coffee? Tea? Something to eat?” she asked. 

“No, thank you. One more thing, Richards. I’m not going to ask you to snitch on anyone or engage in gossip, but I’d like for you to keep your ear to the ground. Keep me informed of anything you think might be important. The general vibe of the staff. The water cooler chatter, so to speak,” he said. “There’s going to be a lot of change going on and people, as a general rule, don’t like change.” 

“Yes, sir,” she said. 

“Thank you, Richards,” he said. Remembering she’d mentioned being a marine, a memory of his father bubbled up in his mind. He said, “You’re dismissed.” 

“Very good, sir. Buzz if you need anything,” she said, turning away.  

Once she’d left the room, he dropped into his chair. He’d been here less than an hour and he was exhausted already.


End file.
